


Just a Little Lovin'

by kingdom_of_mjch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brotherly Love, Case Fic, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Indian mythology - Freeform, M/M, Multi, No Impala, No Mary Winchester, Sam Winchester is chilling, Slow Build, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Spliced Timelines, Women of Letters, cas is excited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingdom_of_mjch/pseuds/kingdom_of_mjch
Summary: Dean, Sam, and Cas have been assigned to a case of tracking down rogue spirits: in India. Adjusting to the time and culture difference is hard enough without having to sort out dozens of relationship stuff and simultaneously trying to chase down weird spirits in a semi-exotic country. Sam is loving it, Cas is excited and nerdy, and Dean is, per usual, pissed off.





	1. Just a Rental Car

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, so be both kind and critical. Suggestions and prompts are welcome, but I'll probably start using them only once the story takes its own shape. 
> 
> Playlist for this chapter: Kailash Kher, anything and everything.
> 
> Disclaimer: Kripke owns it all.
> 
> (This is a W.I.P.)

“Don’t touch that, Cas. You don’t know where it’s been.”

“Dean, I am fairly sure that this is what the locals call a _golgappa_ and it is food.”

“Well, put it down. It looks shady.”

“Relax, Dean. If anyone’s going to get sick off of Indian food, it’s you.”

“Shut up, Sammy. Warrior’s don’t get sick.”

Sam huffed a laugh and immediately began coughing at the cocktail of car exhaust and smog in the air. Chennai in December was not only polluted, it was ridiculously warm. Dean hated everything about this place. It was dirty, everyone stared at them, he didn’t have his Baby, and Cas was being stupidly excited about this whole trip. Dean wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Bobby’s emotional blackmailing and subterfuge.

“Bobby, please. I can’t go three months without the Impala. She’ll miss me!”, he’d protested.

“Shut up, ya idjit. You and Sammy have some talking to do. And fix things with Cas while you’re at it.” he’d grumbled back.

“You’re sending me halfway across the world for group therapy?!” Actually, they could do with a good heart-to-heart but Dean sure as hell wasn’t going to mention that now.

“Were you even paying attention five friggin’ minutes ago? Some ‘a Rufus’ contacts set a bunch of ancient Indian demon spirits free and I need you to collect them at each of their burial temples in actual India. Damn, if it weren’t for Sam, you’d leave the house without your head screwed on.” He’d wheeled himself through the door before Dean could argue.

“Cas, where are we staying? It better not be in some hippie temple.” Dean was getting real sick of the dust caking on his shoes and the car horns blaring at them as they wedged themselves between bumpers trying to cross the jampacked road.  
Cas yanked his trench coat from where it was stuck in a car door and turned reproachful eyes on Dean.  
“Dean, I think you have a very backward view of this country. It’s actually very advanced in agriculture and industry and it’s one of the world’s leading producers of textiles.”  
“Wow, textiles. Cas, that doesn’t sweeten my tea. Where the hell are we staying?”  
“A kindly woman lives off the highway connecting Bangalore and Chennai. Her ancestors were tied to the angels who were first stationed here, and she was very eager to lease us a hut for the duration of our stay.” Cas was frowning by the end of his sentence and it was clear why: he was tilting his head curiously at a small boy holding out his hands and giving Cas a desperate look.  
Sam had caught up with them and he hastily pressed a silver coin into the boy’s palm. The boy sprinted off without a backward glance.  
“Well, how are we getting there?” Dean asked, breaking the silence. Well, the silence of three hundred cars and another fifty people in stores around them. _God, this whole country is like Walmart on a Black Friday, except every day_ , Dean thought.

Sam sighed. “Dean, I get that it’s a sensitive subject, but we might have to rent a car.”  
“Absolutely not.”  
“Dean-”  
“Sam, I just flew in a _plane_ over 20 hours on Bobby’s cheap-ass economy class tickets, and the baggage claim lady didn’t give me her number. I’m sweaty, I reek, and my lungs feel like a vacuum cleaner. I’m choosing the damn transport.” Sam and Cas smartly stayed silent.  
“Okay,” Dean considered, “We can’t take a bus because um, ew. We can’t take a train because, more ew. What about an Uber?”  
_Damn princess can’t get his hands dirty_ , Sam thought.  
“An Uber,” Cas deadpanned. “For 500 kilometers.”  
“Okay, not an Uber,” Dean sighed, frustrated. “Look there are just no possible options and we are not renting a car because any car is a metal piece of crap compared to the Impala and I won’t cheat on my Baby by driving crap. So, what are we going to do?”  
∞  
“I hate you.” Dean grumbled in the passenger seat.

“Just because _you_ can’t cheat on Impala doesn’t mean _I_ can’t.” Sam smirked from the wheel.

“No wonder you don’t have a damn girlfriend,” Dean grumbled.

Cas was staring intently at the faded map crinkling between his fingers. His brow furrowed as he searched for the town where Neela lived.  
“Just head straight for the Nilgiri Hills, sweetie. You can’t miss it,” Her voice crackled over the phone. Cas had immediately liked her. There was something innately trustworthy about this woman and Cas hadn’t even met her yet. Dean was always telling him about the dangers of trusting humans too soon, but Cas had never really gotten that. Cas’ blind trust in humans was what had brought him into Sam and Dean’s lives.  
“And your village is how close to the Rameshwaram temple?” Cas mumbled back, absorbed in distance calculations.  
“Not really a village, but it’s just about 200 kilometers away, which is about a 3-hour drive on our highways. Your hunter friends will find it quite convenient.”  
“Thank you, Neela. I will be seeing you soon.”  
“Not a problem, sweetie. _Jai Shakti_.”  
“Um, yes. _Jai Shakti_.”

Cas was still confused. He could have sworn that the little cluster of trees next to the Hills was what they were looking for, but it had just disappeared from the map. He squinted and tried to get Sam and Dean’s attention. They were bickering about the car again.

“Just saying, Sammy, if you didn’t want to drive, I could have.”

“Yeah, right, and have you bitch the whole time? No, thanks.”

“Sam. Dean.” Cas said firmly.

Dean turned his entire upper body to look back at Cas. “Yeah?”

“We have a problem.”

“That’s what I love to hear.”

“Neela gave me incredibly specific directions and yet, I can’t find this area on the map at all.”

“You sure you’re reading that right, Cas?” Dean poked at the map.

Cas glared at him. 

Dean threw up his hands. “Alright, relax, Cyclops. So how are we getting there?”

“You are being both irritable and irritating at the same time and I wasn’t aware that was possible.”

“It’s a gift, Cas.”

“Okay, enough, you two. Unless one of you has a navigational idea, be quiet.” 

The car was vehemently protesting Sam’s punishing pace and he was tired of Dean’s bitching and Cas’ irritation with everything that talked. He was tired of it a month ago, but now, with the prospect of a blissful 3 months in an exotic and culturally rich country, Sam wanted to make sure that nothing got in the way of his intense relaxation. Sure, they had a case, but Indian _asura_ spirits? Cake. He just wanted to kick back, drink weird Indian alcohol and listen to good music. Cas had picked up a celebratory CD at the airport and the rental was now blaring some fusion folk stuff. After watching Cas sift through CDs, Dean had picked up a few more local beers than strictly necessary. The congested city roads had gradually given way to wide, freshly painted roads with acres of farmland on either side, and nothing but the occasional cowherder or village copse to be seen. It was a little slice of the American road trip life that seemed to follow the Winchesters wherever they went. Sam couldn’t wait to settle into a relatively permanent living space for a while. The bunker was fantastic, and Sam had found a haven for himself there, but he needed some time away from the big picture. He wanted his focus to shrink from the whole world to just himself, his brother, and their best friend. And some ancient Indian spirits.

Once he wasn’t allowed to talk, Dean had drifted off with his head tucked against the window. Sam looked over and was immediately struck by a weird feeling. This was how _he_ had always looked to Dean. Granted, taller, but Sam was always the one being taken care of, being driven places, and being asleep. He remembered that he wasn’t the only one who needed a vacation and he realized he was very glad they had rented a car and that Dean was a stubborn idiot.  
Cas was talking in hushed tones so as to not wake Dean. The latter was a lot more tolerable when he was asleep. Cas was desperately trying to reach Neela again but the interstate cell service was terribly weak. At this rate, they would be driving aimlessly for hours on end, with no idea of where their destination lay. Cas was running out of ideas and with Sam’s mind gently humming in contentment, he didn’t want to stress him out. Yet.

Just as Cas was about to give up and tap Sam’s shoulder, his phone vibrated in his lap. It was an unknown number. Cas generally received calls from about three people so he was wary as he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Castiel?”

“Who is this? How do you have my number?”

“Oh, un-scrunch your trench coat, Cas. It’s Charlie.”

A shock convulsed through Cas. Charlie Bradbury? The Winchester? They hadn’t heard from her in over three years. After swearing to stay in touch after her mother’s death, and occasionally missing them by a few hours on the same cases, the boys had given up on staying in touch with her. She was doing well by herself; Bobby had heard rumors that she was shaping a lot of new hunters in the Mediterranean countries.

“Charlie Bradbury?”

“One and the same.”

“How-?”

“Listen, Cas, I’d love to explain the last few years to you, but I don’t have a lot of time. Dean shot me a line to keep an eye on the incoming virtual messages at the bunker while you guys are gallivanting in the South, and I just picked one up. It’s from a Neela Menon.”

Cas didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but he had learned to focus on the important information. “What is it?”

“Okay, I’m quoting it directly. ‘Castiel, angel’s breath and the unplottable will reveal itself’. Mean anything to you?”

Castiel sighed heavily. “No. And I shall never understand why you humans always speak in such riddles. Why couldn’t she just tell me what to do?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Okay, I have a couple of vamps on me so I have to drop the line. Tell Sam and Dean I miss and love them.” She hung up.

Castiel sighed again. He honestly would have preferred driving aimlessly to solving a verbose and frankly, pretentious, riddle. Cas had to involve Sam at this point; of the three beings in that car, Sam was the most obvious choice to solve this.  
Sam was surprisingly involved in it: he even pulled the car over to think with his hands. This woke up Dean, who yawned as if to swallow the continent of Antarctica.

“Why are we stopped?”

He half smiled, still yawning and Cas’ heart leapt with affection. No matter how much Dean irritated him, it could never last. And Cas knew that the reverse was also true: he could worry Dean to the ends of the earth and the man would still grin and extend the olive branch first. It was how they worked.

“We are attempting to solve a riddle.”

“Um, just for shits and giggles?”

“No, it’s going to help find Neela’s village.” Sam had busted out his laptop by this point. “Okay, I’m going through cultural references to an ‘angel’s breath” in this region, but so far nothing’s popping up.”

Dean rubbed at his eyes. “Lemme see that.”

He read the short riddle that Sam had scrawled onto his notepad and frowned. Angel’s breath? Really? Zero points for originality. He hoped that wherever this village was, it wasn’t ruled by vague and hippie talk like this.

“I don’t know, Cas. Maybe you should actually breathe on the map.”

Sam looked up slowly from his furious typing. Cas shrugged. He unfolded the map and gently huffed out a breath on the copse of trees next to which he had last seen Neela’s village. There was a slight glimmer and a small dot appeared with a label next to it, in tiny, delicate script, reading _Devadutnagar_. Cas was back to liking Neela and her surprisingly direct riddles.  
Sam huffed out a breath and sat back defeatedly. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”  
Dean crowed with joy and clapped his hands together. “Alright, Sulu. Let’s get this disgraceful vehicle to _Devadutnagar_ , whatever that is.” Sam turned the ignition.

“I think you’re pronouncing it wrong, Dean.” Cas smiled gently and his shoulders sagged in relief. At least now they knew where they were headed.

“Whatever, Cas. I still deserve a goddamned medal for that. In my still-kinda-asleep state, I solved a riddle that confused _Sam_. I am the king.”

Sam was still muttering under his breath and the words were not very kind. Cas understood that he did not appreciate the simplicity of the riddle. Perhaps he’d understand it on the drive to what, Cas had suddenly realized, was called the Village of Angels. Yes, he definitely liked Neela again.

Cas was experiencing the sudden resurfacing of his earlier excitement. It had started in the plane, when Dean, panting and desperately closing his eyes in the seat next to him, suddenly fell asleep, most likely from the stress. In the vacuum of sound left after Dean’s breathing evened out, he was suddenly able to hear the tapestry of thought around him. Dozens of Indian people, of many religious and ethnic persuasions, some returning after two months and some after twenty years. Nevertheless, Cas felt the deep bond that each human had with their motherland. It was fascinating, something that even the Americans, with all their adamant patriotism, had lacked. Cas hesitated for a moment, but it was tempting: he began to integrate himself into that emotion and tap into it for himself. His adventures had always been where the Winchesters were and now that he was getting the opportunity to travel, he had wanted to do so with complete immersification. Cas was going to experience India the right way: as an Indian.

If only Dean would relax and enjoy himself, Cas could have an extremely excellent trip.


	2. Just a Tiny Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There stood a yellowed building with colored posters, and within it, a life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how late this is, but unfortunately, with everything that's going on, I can't promise it won't happen again. But still, enjoy!  
> (Translations in the end notes)

Ethan was pissed off.

It had been nearly three hours since Neela had said she was ‘going out’ and approximately three hours since Ethan had started worrying about her. She could protect herself, but what if? It had taken him years to be comfortable with Neela being away from him, and today was not a good show of his progress. Fuck it, he was going to ask Raja where she had gone. He grabbed his car keys and slammed the door behind him.

Raja laughed at him. “Ethan, _bhaiyya_ , Neela’s not going to be happy that you’re going after her.”

“Screw that, Raja, I’m worried. This is pretty much her fault. She always tells me where she’s going and today she didn’t and I’m worried, this isn’t-“

“ _Aré_ , how do you Americans say it? Take a chill pill.” Raja was wiping down the counter and he was being deliberately thick if he thought that Ethan wouldn’t smash his skull in for being idiotic.

“Raja,” he warned. He used the same voice he used the last time there was a Siren in the village and he was trying to distract it: dripping with honey, but edged in glass.

“Alright, alright. She said she was just going to the arch, to pick up some guests?”

Ethan deflated against the counter. “Just to the arch?”

Raja smiled sympathetically. “Just to the arch.”

“Thank God. Scotch and soda, please.”

“You’ve got it, _yaar_.”  
∞

Sam was straightening out his driving cramps when Cas silently pointed at something ahead of them. Sam peered in that direction, looking for whatever Cas had seen, but he couldn’t find it. Luckily Dean seemed to, because his eyes widened and he quickly pulled the car into a shoulder.

“Is that it?”, Dean asked hesitantly. 

“Yes,” Cas replied reverently.

Sam squinted some more. “Okay, guys, you’re going to have to help me out because I’m seeing nothing here.”  
Dean didn’t answer. He just patted Sam on the knee and got out of the car. Cas followed suit and Sam was left feeling frustrated about not knowing something for a change.  
Dean genuinely couldn’t believe his eyes. He, Sam, and Cas had seen a lot and this wasn’t the most stupendous thing they’d ever seen but it was definitely the most confounding.

“And it’s just _there_?” Dean asked of Cas. “How the hell does everybody drive by and not see _that_?” he gesticulated hopelessly.

Cas was tilting his head at it, as if to solve a stubborn puzzle. “The angle is such that it is mostly concealed by that large copse of trees and the cars are driving by too fast to catch a glance of it.”

Sam walked up to them with his jaw hanging open.

Dean smirked. “Now you see it?”

It was, to put it simply, an arch. It resembled a simple entrance that preceded most ruins and old buildings, but it was just…more. It was engraved with ornate stone deities dancing and regarding the few passers-by with flat stone eyes. It was encircled with carved garlands and flowers in various hues and the top was an intricate spiral of wheels and protrusions, ending in a pointed peak not unlike the top of a soft serve ice cream. 

“Well, ain’t that something?”, Dean chuckled. 

The air was surprisingly quiet for a clearing next to a national highway and Dean could even hear some wildlife. But for all their wonder, they had no idea where they were going or what they were doing next. 

 

“Castiel?”

Cas whipped around to find the source of the voice that was uncomfortably close to him, his angel blade sliding into his hand. He crouched defensively as the boys drew their guns behind him.

“Who’s there?” Sam called out.

A slight woman appeared from behind the trees, hands raised in surrender but utterly relaxed. “Hello. Sam and Dean, I presume.” She raised her eyebrows at the guns. Her eyes were slightly teasing until they landed on Cas.

“Castiel?” she asked hesitantly, lowering her hands and inching towards them slowly.

“Cas,” Dean warned. “Is she for real?”

Cas was squinting at the human form approaching them. “It’s Neela. She appears to be human, but I cannot completely _see_ her.” Cas didn’t seem too worried so Sam and Dean lowered their guns, albeit slowly.

The woman extended her arm out as if to touch Cas. Dean tensed.

“It really is you,” she breathed. “Your grace is weak but it still hums.”

“Thank you?” Cas said, still watching carefully as she, in turn, watched him.

“No, you’re stronger than I was led to believe. But malevolent spirits are hardly a reliable source of knowledge.” She was now assessing Sam and Dean, eyes flicking back and forth between them and disassembling their intentions. 

“Wait, you’re a hunter?” Sam asked, looking uncomfortable when she stared at him.

“I’m close enough.” She seemed to have completed her assessment of them and appeared to have a much kinder twinkle in her eye. “I can’t seem to find anything dangerous on you boys so I’m going to let you in. Don’t run off.” She turned to get her car and walked briskly away from them.

“She’s quite safe,” Cas assured them. “She is of blessed lineage and I trust her.”

“No offence, Cas, but you trust too fast. You’re the one that said you couldn’t see her or whatever. Let’s just be careful.” Dean turned back to their car. 

Sam caught up with Cas before they followed Neela. “Cas, you’re sure everything here is safe?”

“Rest assured, Sam, I would never bring you or Dean into an unsafe situation intentionally. I believe her. Perhaps it is the angelic influence, but even so, I like her. So, shall we?” He gestured to the car.

Sam shrugged. “Sure, let’s go.”  
∞

It couldn’t really be a village. It was massive: a labyrinthian confusion of thatched houses and mud roads interspersed with clearings of shockingly green grass, rolling meadows, and hills. It was a conundrum and if Dean didn’t have Neela’s car guiding them, they probably would have gotten lost in the first ten minutes. The arch marked the entrance to a dense forest with a single road leading in and out, which was followed by various off-roads and branches leading off to God knows where. In the end, they pulled over in the middle of a dusty circle of low buildings that looked disturbingly like they were from an old Western movie. Dean’s heart leapt when he saw the sign that said ’24-hour Diner’.

His stomach growled. “Damn, I hope we get some grub soon because if we don’t, I might start chomping fingers.”

Cas smiled. “Somehow, one can always rely on Dean’s stomach to root us in reality.”

Sam smiled as well. “Like clockwork. Anyways, Neela’s stopping now so hopefully, we have quick introductions and get lunch.”

“Amen, brother,” Dean said, as he put the car in park. He had somehow become the default driver, despite being thousands of miles from his Baby. Some things couldn’t change.

“This is our central office,” Neela explained as she walked them up to a yellowed building with colorful posters stuck on it. “If anyone wants a case, or wants to find anything, this is where they come.”

Sam frowned. “How many hunters do you have here?”

“Oh, not that many. Most of the people here know about the supernatural, but their parents or grandparents gave up that fight long ago. Now they’re still welcome here as residents, but they don’t hunt and they don’t train their kids to either.” Neela unstuck the door and led them into a dark hallway.  
It was unfathomable, but the place reminded Dean of Bobby’s. Maybe it was something about research and hunting that gave a place the characteristic weathered look: simple furnishings, the dull smell of rubbing alcohol, and an unmistakable feeling of home. 

“Ethan?” Neela called, as she went through the place, as if searching for something. “Ethan, I’m back and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I left!” She frowned as she looked.  
“This is so weird,” Dean whispered to Sam. “These people are practically, exactly, like American hunters. So how have we never heard of them?”

Cas was inspecting an old fossil that looked suspiciously like a claw. “There are sects of hunters everywhere, Dean. Besides, the Indian sect is quite secretive, even by hunters’ standards.”

“Guys,” Sam’s voice pitched to them, “These are records of the Apocalypse.”

“Which time?” Dean asked, only half joking.

“They have records of us, as the chosen vessels, and of Lucifer getting out of his cage.” He flipped more pages and his eyes widened. “These talk about Eve and Abaddon. Dean, some _American_ hunters don’t even know this stuff.”

Cas frowned and went over to them. “Why is that surprising? You are quite well known, some might even say both of you are the leaders of the American hunting force.”

But Dean understood what Sam meant. Every time they had a case or had a go at a bigger fish, they remembered the people they saved and the hunters that died in that effort. But it was hard to imagine that a small town in rural India, nine thousand miles away from where they put down Lucifer, people knew their names.

“Okay, I’m worried now.” Neela walked in, brow furrowed and phone in hand. “Ethan would leave a message if he was going out.” Her eyes brightened with an idea.  
“Raja.” She ran out the door.

Dean sighed. “Come on, let’s follow the tiny lady.”  
∞

Neela raced into the bar and slammed her fist on the counter. “Raja, get out here now!”

Raja calmly stood up from where he had crouched to put away glasses. “Neela, welcome back, _behenji_. Why are you storming into my bar again?”

“Do you know where Ethan is?”, she asked, searching his face frantically.

Raja rolled his eyes. “The two of you are going to drive me mad with your ridiculous overprotectiveness. For God’s sake, put trackers on each other.”

“Please, _bhai_ , tell me where he is.”

“Relax,” Raja said, patting her shoulder. “He received a surprise case from an old friend and had to leave in a hurry. He said he’d be back in two days, that he’s sorry he didn’t leave a message, and that he loves you.”

Neela sagged in her seat. “Thank God. Dry martini, please.”

Raja chuckled at something inane. “You’ve got it, _yaar_.”

Sam, Dean, and Cas chose that moment to tumble into the bar, panting. 

“Man, lady! You run friggin’ fast!” Dean said, panting.

Raja smiled at them. “It's the power of love. Neela, who are these people and why are they commenting on how fast you run?”

“These are our guests. The angel and the Winchester boys. They’ve got a case here.” Neela turned around, much calmer than before. “Guys, this is Raja. He’s the bartender here at Downward Dhaba. Well, the bar part of it anyway.” She swiveled on her stool and grinned up into Raja’s face. “He hasn’t been sober a day in his life.”

“Come on, Nee,” Raja said, “I’m not an alcoholic, okay? I was sober once in the 80s and it didn’t take.” He smiled at Dean, Cas, and Sam, shaking each of their hands with the light, gentle grip of a _friggin' boulder_.

Raja was huge. He reminded Dean of a cross between a body builder and an actual mountain. He was wide-set with bulging biceps and an expanse of dark skin, but his smile was like an 8-year-old’s: mischievous and shiny. 

“Hey, man,” Dean said, thinking about the rep he’d have to build with this guy to get free whiskey. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dean, that’s my brother, Sam, and that’s our resident angel, Cas.” Cas’ eyes glinted with confusion, but with so many things he didn’t understand, he just let it go.

Raja chuckled. “You don’t have to introduce yourselves. I doubt there’s a hunter in the world that doesn’t know the Winchesters. Good to have you here.” 

Sam blushed a little and Dean shrugged. Fame may follow you, but it sure ain’t comfortable.

Neela was giggling like a maniac as Raja refilled her glass with what looked like pure scotch. 

“Woah, dude, slow down,” Dean steadied her as she nearly fell over. “She doesn’t look so good.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Raja replied easily. “When either of them leave each other for a few days, the other gets shitmixed and does stupid stuff. They’re each other’s impulse control.” He smiled. “It’s fine, I’ll take care of her and make sure she doesn’t get a concussion.”

Neela was shaking her head, words slurring together. They’d been at the bar all of ten minutes and Neela was on her way to an insane hangover. “No, Rajjjj, I want to  
walk them around the complex. Do you know that he’s an angel?” she said, finger shakily pointing at a confused Cas. “ _Aasman se_.”

“Yes, that’s nice, but I don’t think you can walk by yourself.” Raja frowned.

Sam stepped up. “It’s okay, we’ve got her. Her place is above her office, right? We can take her there.”

Raja shrugged. “Okay. Nee, make sure you settle them down before crashing. Don’t forget.”

Neela made whooping noises which Dean thought was a yes. They walked her out gingerly, mostly supporting her and finding that the night sky above the village was no different than the one above the bunker.  
∞

“Okay, okay, you got her?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Man, she’s such a lightweight.” Dean grunted, basically lifting Neela off her feet. She continued to snore lightly, which wasn’t helping her case. “But I have no idea how she’s gonna tell us where to sleep.”

Cas stepped forward and placed two fingers on her forehead. His eyes flashed; Dean would never get used to that. “So, do we have a room?” Dean asked.

“Yes, it’s quite pleasant as well. It isn’t far from Neela’s office so we can drop her off first.”

They walked briskly toward the yellowed building illuminated by harsh, white, fluorescent light. They made their way through the chilly house, and Dean gently laid Neela on what he assumed was her bed. “Sleep it off, Neela. Thanks for everything.” Dean murmured to her. She muttered something and Dean suddenly noticed that she was wearing a necklace, one not unlike his own amulet. He made a note to ask Cas about it because it looked familiar.

Dean pressed the button and the rental beeped and popped open. “I still think this place is kinda creepy,” he commented to Sam. “The lights are a little too…weird.”

Sam cracked a smile. “You’re just homesick, Dean. If we can make it in a crappy motel with no soap or bedsheets, we can make it here just fine.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean turned to Cas. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Cas looked surprised. “Um, yes, I’m fine. Just…tired.”

“I get that. Come on, let’s get the stuff.”

Cas led them confidently toward a thatched house about five doors down from Neela’s office and completely identical to the other 300 thatched houses next to it. The door was locked when they got there, but Cas kicked a rock over and triumphantly picked up a key. 

It was adorable. Dean reserved ‘adorable’ for things like puppies and babies, but the house was adorable. It had three single canopy beds spread across a long room, each with a mosquito net and a small kerosene lamp next to it, casting comforting shadows on the dark hardwood floors. There was a small door at the far wall and Dean assumed it was the bathroom. Through the little windows, Dean could hear thundering crickets and see all the way to the hills they passed that morning. It reminded him of when his dad wanted to hunt Wendigos up in the high forests and he’d make a little camping trip out of it: marshmallows, sleeping bags, the whole shebang. It was one of Dean’s better memories.

“Dibs on first shower,” Sam sighed, tossing his duffel on the first bed, which Dean assumed he also called dibs on.

Dean rubbed his eyes. “Thanks, man, you stink.”

Sam glared at him and slammed the bathroom door behind him. Dean grinned at his unfailing ability to rile up his brother. He turned at a loud thump, which meant that Cas was down.

Dean lay in the middle bed, turning to Cas on the one next to him. “Shit, nice mattresses. This place ain’t too shabby.”

Cas turned a distracted smile on him. “Yes, Dean, it’s quite nice.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, certainly,” Cas frowned, belying what he had just said. “Despite being so far from the USA, it seems that not much changes.” He paused. “It is a magnanimous task that Bobby has assigned us. I was looking at Sam’s research and there are no small number of spirits to be captured.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, turning on his back. “It’s hardly the most difficult case we’ve had. Besides, I’m getting a very distinct ‘vacation’ vibe and this feels a lot better than a normal case.” Dean used his best advertisement voice. “Come on, long drives, dramatic views, exotic people? Living the dream, man.” Dean closed his eyes contentedly.

Cas smiled. “I appreciate your optimism, Dean. And perhaps it will be a good vacation.”

“There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it; we’re going to have a great time, Cas.” 

“Yes. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little worried about how many OCs were just showing up, but the next few chapters will definitely focus on the boys!  
> Also, I'm still figuring out stuff on this website because this is my first work. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out how to use italics in my last chapter, but I'm working on it. Suggestions, comments, anythings are always welcome!  
> Translations:  
>  _aasman se_ : "from the sky"  
>  _bhaiyya_ : "brother"  
>  _yaar_ : Hindi slang for "bro"  
>  _behenji_ : "sister"  
>  _dhaba_ : "diner"


	3. Just a Ghost Priest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day like any other?

Sam settled in fast. He had already spread five different books, his laptop, a steaming cup of coffee, and hundreds of papers on the small round table they’d been provided. As Cas sat up groggily, he made a note to ask Neela for a larger table: Sam’s gigantic form looked very uncomfortable hunched over the tiny table. But he was in what Dean liked to call ‘the zone’, brow furrowed in concentration and eyes scanning everything with machine precision.

In contrast, Dean was out cold. He hadn’t even changed out of his clothes, just crashed. He was slack-jawed, hands stuffed under his pillow, and legs curled up like a small child. In truth, Dean looked most at peace when he was sleeping, as if the earthly cares of the world simply didn’t exist in sleep. Cas could remember a time when Dean couldn’t get a full night’s sleep; he was haunted by the ghosts of past mistakes and betrayals. Cas was glad that he wasn’t torturing himself anymore, at least. 

“Mornin’, Cas,” drawled Sam. Cas snapped his curious gaze to the other brother. “Want some coffee? There’s a whole kitchenette behind the door that we didn’t notice yesterday.”

Cas frowned.

“A kitchenette. It’s like a kitchen, but smaller.” 

Cas nodded in gratitude and tried to fix the crick in his neck. As he poured the coffee, he felt a small prick of a former guilt: Jimmy had always had an utter disdain for coffee and Cas felt as if he should respect the wishes of his vessel. He’d done his best to keep his body in good shape and considering he was closer to humanity than he had been since Metatron’s antics, Cas decided that one cup wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if all went well, they would have a hunt by lunchtime and he could work up a good sweat.

“When Dean wakes up, we can get breakfast at that diner,” Sam continued. “I really want to try an Indian breakfast.” 

Cas smiled at his enthusiasm. “What is the status of the first spirit? It would be best to get started as soon as possible.”

“I thought we could rest for today, but if you want to start, we can start. The first temple isn’t far from here, just about, uh, 50 kilometers. Jesus, I’m never going to get used to kilometers and not miles.”

Cas frowned thoughtfully. “Compromise. We rest until lunch and leave after that. 50 kilometers is about 45 minutes, so it should work out.”

Sam yawned and stretched. “Sounds good. Wanna shower first?”

Cas looked down at his rumpled suit. He’d had the presence of mind to take off his trench coat and shoes, but not much of anything else. He’d been wearing the same suit for three days and while it wasn’t actually dirty, he felt grimy.

“Yes, thank you,” Cas said, dropping his duffle on his bed. He frowned down at it. He had prioritized books that Bobby had given them over clothes: there was a dress shirt, an extra tie, one pair of slacks, and two pairs of jeans that Dean had shoved on him.

“Gotta have jeans, man,” he’d grinned. “They’re an institution.”

“An institution of denim clothing? That sounds implausible, Dean.” Cas stated wryly.

Dean crossed his finger over his heart. 

Cas was in a dilemma. He could ask Sam for clothes, but the latter’s shirts always hung ridiculously on Cas’ frame and he wanted comfortable clothes for the hunt. He thought for a moment, mentally shrugged, and plucked a soft flannel from Dean’s duffel next to his feet. He’d ask for permission later.

The water pressure was fantastic for a semi-rural area. It was almost as good as at the bunker. _Dean will be happy_ , Cas thought, amused. _He’s always been fussy about these things._

By the time Cas dressed, Dean was up, albeit groggy and hair sticking up in every direction. He was yawning and talking to Sam, who seemed immersed in reading the instructions at the back of the tea kettle. 

“How long have you been up?” Dean asked rubbing his eyes.

“Since 6AM,” Sam smiled.

“Freak.”

“Well, while you were drooling, I located our first spirit.”

“Still a freak, but now you’re a useful freak. Lemme get changed.” He turned and smiled sleepily at Cas’ clothes. “Nice shirt. You got good taste, Cas.”

“This is yours, Dean.” Cas frowned.

Dean sighed. “I know. Okay, I’m showering and then I want breakfast. Let’s see what passes for grub here.”  
∞

“Holy shit, that’s a lot of food.”

Sam sat staring in awe at the steel plates that had been set in front of them. They had asked for the breakfast _thali_ and the chef’s special, which was apparently _fifty different kinds of chutney._

“I _love_ this place,” Dean moaned, mouth full of _masala dosa._

Cas poked at his food, intrigued. These were some of the finest breakfast delicacies of South India. The hospitality certainly wasn’t lacking. He had listened very closely when Raja had explained the dishes to them and he even remembered some angels telling him of the “heavenly” food in India. There were _dosas, idlis, vadas, kadubu, poha, upma, chole bature,_ and some fresh fruit that Dean was studiously ignoring. 

“We eat a lot,” Raja had laughed. “Every person here has felt the effects of missed meals so we don’t skimp.” He caught Dean’s reverent expression when he first set the food down and grinned. “You seem like our kind of people. Eat up, my friend, and welcome to India.”

Afterwards, Cas felt only slightly guilty for interrupting the post-breakfast coma that the boys had slipped into. “When shall we depart for the temple?”

Dean groaned and tried to kick him under the table. “Cas, don’t talk about doing things for at least 3 more hours.”

Cas looked at them and decided to show mercy: even Sam, who could never relax fully in a public place, appeared completely blissed out. They could afford to kill a few hours, Cas thought. Uncharacteristically for them, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world to take a nap for a few hours.  
∞

Cas wasn’t as sleepy as the other two so he set to work familiarizing himself with Sam’s research which was, as usual, very extensive. Cas had always admired Sam’s thoroughness and thirst for knowledge; it made the job that much easier. 

Their first spirit was the remnant of a priest who had become drunk with power and tried to blackmail a minor god into giving him immortality. Cas sighed at the cliché and continued reading. The priest had shackled the god in his house and when it accidentally got free, was very surprised that it ripped him to shreds. Apparently, both the violence of his death and the alchemic magic he performed on himself, mutated his spirit into something close to a demon. This was 4000 years ago. Below the background information, Sam had circled some handwritten notes:

_VERY IMPORTANT: Spirit captured in a warded Kallu Pathram and safely stored circa 800 BC. May possess unnatural abilities due to the nature of capture. Proceed with caution._

Cas frowned at this. Sam had made no mention of ‘unnatural abilities’. He had treated it as if it were a routine spirit hunt. Cas shook his head in irritation: no matter what changed, the Winchesters charging in guns blazing never would. His thoughts were affectionate but he planned to have serious words with Sam later.

He flipped through the grainy photos documenting the second capture. The spirit had gotten loose again, relatively recently, and an Indian hunter bottled it back up sometime in the 1940s. The photos showed a granite vase-like structure intricately carved with what Cas could only describe as generic pagan runes.

The bedsheets rustled and Cas turned to look at a disgruntled Dean emerging from them. Cas smiled because it seemed that he spent more time around a sleeping Dean than a wakeful one. Dean padded over to him and dropped into a chair next to him.

“Whatcha got there?”, he asked, stretching such that a sliver of his stomach could be seen.

Cas’ eyes flicked back to the files. “Just reading up on our case for today. I found that this spirit might be more powerful than others. We should ask Sam if we might need special weapons.”

Dean was quite awake now. “Yeah, of course. I just thought it was the normal Ghostbusters’ routine.”

“As did I. But the story here indicates something different.”

“Okay, better safe, I guess.” Dean picked up his shoe and threw it at the lump on Sam’s bed. “Sammy! We need weapons,” he said, chuckling at Sam’s groans.

“Dean, don’t be rude,” Cas admonished.

Dean looked incredulously at him. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Sam groaned some more. “Ugh, it’s fine, Cas. What’s up?”

“This spirit’s more juiced up than the usual.”

“ _Might_ be.”

“We might need better hitters to take it out.”

“ _Capture_ it.”

“Whatever, Cas. Point is, we might need more than just iron bullets and rock salt.”

Sam contemplated this. “Yeah, I was thinking about that. But the corporeal form and normal signs are all there. For all intents and purposes, that’s just a normal ghost. I wasn’t sure that the priest’s life had anything to do with it, at least here.”

“But alchemy? That might have been relevant, Sam.”

Sam shrugged, surprisingly nonchalant. “We have a warded _Kallu Pathrum_ from Bobby, just like the one it was first contained in.”

“Didn’t it escape that?” Dean was now fully invested, going over three different files at once. His eyes halted and widened as he spotted something. “Cas, what is this symbol?”

“An ancient rune of some sort. Do you recognize it?”

“Yeah, Neela was wearing an amulet just like this. What does it mean?”

Sam came over, eyebrows raised. “That can’t be a coincidence. We have to ask her.”

Dean stretched unhurriedly. “Yeah, okay. Cas, help me pack our stuff.”

Cas dutifully plodded over to Dean’s bed, where the latter was spreading a veritable arsenal of hunting gear across his bed. He stepped back, assessing fifty different weapons like he was browsing at Target. Cas had an odd fondness for Target: they had ties in almost every color and blood didn’t come out of mortal clothes as easily as one would hope. 

Dean turned around, eyes dragging from Cas’ toes to his eyes, as if sizing him up. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “What are you packing?”

“Excuse me?”

“Right now. What kind of angel juice do you have in you?”

“Enough to refill a tank of gas and prevent fatal injuries. Why?”

“Picking out weapons for you. That angel blade won’t work on a spirit.”

Cas frowned. “Yes, that’s true. Perhaps you have a spirit blade of some sort?”

Dean chuckled. “Nope.”

Cas stared back blankly. “I will _not_ fire a gun, Dean.”

Dean put his hands up defensively. That action always revived Cas’ worst memories. “Ugh, okay fine. You can’t last long in this business without touching a gun, Cas.”

Cas gingerly poked at Dean’s gun. “Well, I’m going to try. Give me a blade, please.”

Dean stared balefully at Cas, who held his stare defiantly. At the coffee table, Sam rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” Dean acquiesced. “I’ll give you an iron blade.” Cas began to thank him. “No, _if_ , you promise to let me teach you how to shoot.”

That day will never come, thought Cas. “Fine.”

“Fine. Here, so you push back on this button near the hilt and…”

Sam tuned out after that. Dean often talked about his weapons like they were precious gems in a royal collection or beloved pets of the aristocracy. To Sam, they were tools to help them do their job.

He resumed reading the priest’s biography, one written by his daughter, and one by his mistress. It seemed that Brahmin priests generally had extramarital affairs on a regular basis but would never get in trouble for it. Sam hated doing this when he knew that it was just a normal spirit. Dean was known for charging into conflict without a thought but when it came to research, he was actually kind of a nerd. It was nice when Sam got to see that part of him; it reminded him of when they would buy cheap comic books and Dean would tell him all about his theories and fantasy worlds. A simpler time.

By this time, Cas was loosely holding an iron blade with the practiced ease of someone who had literally been fighting for millennia. Seeing him like that warmed Sam’s heart: it was nice to see the sometimes-powerless angel protecting his autonomy occasionally. 

Sam sighed heavily and went back to his reading. He frowned as he read one odd line: ‘Kazhagan was a brutish man, and would often be found in the forges, honing his natural skills’. A blacksmith priest? That was extremely unusual. The cast divisions in the priest’s time were absolute and unforgiving. Why would someone risk their life to slum it with a blacksmith? Sam’s eyes widened as he read some of Kazhagan’s work notes.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, guys, get this. Our alchemy priest was using spells from the Book of the Damned to keep himself immortal.”

Dean’s jokes fell flat. “What?”

“His work notes involve the same runes as from the Book of the Damned. I’d bet my blade that these are spells for immortality.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dean’s voice cracked. “I thought we were done dealing with that fucking thing.”

“Yeah, so did I,” replied Sam, flipping through his files confusedly. “It makes no sense. What was the Book doing in rural India?”

Cas peered over Sam’s shoulder. “Scripts like the Book would travel from coven to coven and would sometimes be lost and kept in various places for some time. These were travelling texts,” he whispered, fingers trailing across the archaic runes.

Dean groaned from the bed. “So, what are we supposed to do?”

Sam grit his teeth. “Just approach it like a normal spirit run.”

“Okay, so your plan is to _die_.”

Cas huffed out a breath. “Don’t be dramatic, Dean. There is some merit to approaching this case with caution, but otherwise completely normally. I shall speak with Neela and collect some regional weaponry and spells. Besides, this is hardly the most difficult case we’ve had,” he said pointedly.

Dean glared. “Fine, Cas.”

Sam surfaced from under a mountain of papers. “Also, I found a neutralizing spell, so if the spirit turns out to be juiced up, we can kill his powers and turn him into a normal ghost.”

Cas turned to Dean and smiled triumphantly. Dean yielded and rolled his eyes.

“Okay, fine, let’s just go. But if one of you dies, I swear to God, I’m gonna kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm debating whether or not I should involve fight scenes, but I don't think I will. In addition, most of the Hindi and Tamil words were food.  
> Translations:  
>  _Kallu Pathrum_ \- Stone Vessel  
>  _thali_ -breakfast plate
> 
> Have a gorgeous week, guys.


	4. Just a Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of rumination.

Dean was pissed.

And it wasn’t run-of-the-mill-Sam-messed-with-my-Baby pissed. This was real pissed and someone was about to feel the heat if they didn’t stop being so damn infuriating.

“You are unbelievable”, Cas said, slamming the door to their cottage behind him. Except he had the strength of a small freight train when he was pissed, so the door was ripped off its hinges. Cas disappeared in a temporary poof of dust.

The small part of Dean that wasn’t consumed with anger, found this slightly amusing. But mostly, the anger part.

“I’m sorry, what?! Man, I promise you, _I_ am not the one that’s being unbelievable here.”

Cas shrieked in frustration. Dean felt kind of like shrieking too, but Sam would be back from parking the car soon, so they had to fight this one out as fast as possible.

“You charged a dark spirit _unarmed_.”

“It was the best course of action.”

“It was suicide.”

“Dean, you’re hardly one to talk. In the course of a twenty-minute fight, you managed to get stabbed not once, but _twice_.”

“Don’t go changing the subject, Cas! You’re the one who ditched their only blade in favor of weak-ass blood magic!”

“You’ve never had problems with my runes before now, Dean. You’re reaching.” Cas said tiredly.

“Not with you,” Dean mumbled. “I thought we agreed that we’d be careful.”

“When did we do that?”

“It was implicit.”

“Make it explicit next time.”

Dean’s mind briefly flashed somewhere it shouldn’t go, but he was still more irritated than…anything else. He wearily sat on the bed, clutching his side where makeshift bandages were covering his ragged stab wounds. Cas sighed heavily at Dean’s belligerence, kicked off his shoes, and flopped down next to him on the bed. He gently placed his hand over Dean’s and a soft blue light emanated from underneath the bandages.

Dean made a faint noise of protest. “Dude, you shouldn’t be wasting your mojo on this stuff. We can manage with whiskey and stitches.”

Cas quelled him with a look, and Dean decided to let it go. This time.

Sam walked in warily. “Y’all done yelling?”

Dean sighed heavily as the skin around his wound closed, blood flow stopping, and the pain reducing to a dull throb. “Yeah, Sam, we’re done. Let’s just sleep this off.”

Cas was staring at him, so Dean turned to meet his glare head-on. If Cas was going to start this fight up again, Dean was happy to oblige him. “What?”

“You’re on my bed, Dean.”  
∞  
It was evening before Cas groggily sat up from his anger-induced slumber, hair sticking straight out and disgusting human slime in the corner of his eyes. The evenings in India were beautifully twilight, gorgeous in a way that Cas didn’t want to admire at that moment: he was still incensed by Dean. But his frustration waned as he gazed fondly at the purple and orange hues of the six-o-clock sky, all smoke spires and tall trees in the distance. Soft lanterns surrounded the hamlet, along with the low humming of light moths and faraway conversation. Cas grudgingly admitted that the view was exponentially improved by the image of a sleeping Dean under the light of the window, all chiaroscuro shades of light painted across abdominal muscles. But no, Cas was still angry with him and he yanked off the sheets in a huff to reinforce his point. He stretched gently and recalled the fact that jeans were not comfortable sleeping attire. He fell back into his bed and stretched against the pillow, feline limbs cricking as the tension bled out of him. He sighed. This human body was so vulnerable and yet, the small pleasures it afforded, like the relief of de-stressed muscles, made Castiel think of sun-kissed warmth from the beaches of Goa, where he had once been posted as a Seraph. He had been unable to tan as a full-blown angel, but Castiel idly wondered if he would acquire freckles and caramel skin if he returned now. If the glow of his grace were to fade, he would like to feel the glow of sunlight at least.

Sleep eluded Castiel, so he gently padded across the room (which felt more like an auditorium or hall, such was its length) to the ‘kitchenette’ and made himself some tea. The tea in India, Castiel had found, was deep and bitter, like upturned earth after a storm. The wisp of grace he had left allowed him to feel the tingle of his body’s cells cleansing themselves. He wiggled his sock-clad toes in delight. He began to idly draw on a sketchpad as the sun dipped to the horizon and the hum of insects shrouded the atmosphere. 

Twenty minutes later, Castiel looked at the sketchpad with idle interest and was surprised. He had drawn…rabbits. Small white bunnies that he remembered hopping around outside the bunker, with a backdrop of fall leaves that Sam had raked in earlier. The mental image was from somewhere in September, when Castiel had finally made the decision to stay for as long as the Winchesters would have him. It was a pleasant memory, not tinged with regret like most of his pleasant memories were, but enhanced by the knowledge that Castiel would have only pleasant additions to this mental scrapbook. He affectionately added the sight of Dean under bedsheets in the waning light to his scrapbook.

Castiel flipped the page and began afresh. Fights like the one he and Dean had had that morning were inevitable, and as unpleasant as Castiel found them, he was unwilling to adopt the grudging acceptance that Sam had clearly adopted with his brother. He wouldn’t take Dean’s bull-headedness sitting down either. Castiel had traversed many worlds in many different eras and had yet to find an individual as stubborn as Dean Winchester. Helen of Troy was a close second.   
Boredom began to set in. He didn’t want to leave the room without Sam or Dean, but he wanted them to rest well. With only a moment of guilt, he gently prodded at Dean’s mental state to gauge his wakefulness. Dean abhorred this invasion of privacy so Castiel limited himself to short and superficial ‘mind-reading’. As soon as he saw the picture of a homely kitchen, he immediately pulled away. Dean was dreaming and as curious as Castiel was, he respected Dean’s mental boundaries. A sentiment he could not imagine would be shared by the Castiel from 2009. His close brush with humanity and the Winchesters had made him far more empathetic than Heaven’s angels would want. Oh, well. He was a ‘free agent’ now, heart on a leash, spirit in the wind.

Sam sat upright in his bed and Castiel smiled as the former tamed his hair with an errant pat. He rubbed at his eyes and stretched as he walked towards Cas. “Mornin’, Cas.”

“It’s 7 ‘o’ clock.”

“Damn, I just wanted to take a power nap, not miss the sunset.”

Castiel nodded in understanding. “The sunsets here are quite spectacular.”

“Damn. Well, there’s always tomorrow. I wanted to wait until you and Dean calmed down to tell you that I want to catch a couple of days rest. Unlike other cases, this one isn’t as time sensitive, so we can take a few days break between each hunt. How’s that sound?”

Castiel nodded. His thoughts were running in line with Sam’s; there was no need to rush through the hunts when they could take their time. “That sounds ideal. I am enjoying this locale far more than I expected to and I would like to explore this town leisurely.”

Sam glanced at the sketchpad between them and smiled gently. “Sounds good, Cas.” He busied himself making his own cup of tea. “That was a good day.”

Cas looked down at the sketchpad again. “I remember it very fondly as well.”

Cas always found Sam’s presence to be like the cup of tea he was enjoying- calming, non-confrontational, and good for you. Dean liked to tease Sam for his salad-eating, long-hair-wearing, and tea-drinking, but Castiel treasured the peace that Sam brought him. This was aided in no small part by the fact that Sam seemed to exude his own contentedness and lighten the air around him. 

Dean’s presence, in contrast, was like a storm: intense, and often life-altering. As an angel, Cas had always loved storms, and he’d unknowingly aligned himself with the human embodiment of one. Not many could say his life wasn’t ironic. 

“Wanna get some real coffee?”, Sam posited after a drawn-out and beautiful silence.

“What would constitute ‘real coffee’?”

“Anything that Dean wouldn’t turn his nose up at, and something that’ll kick his ass into gear.”

“What would you like to do this evening?”

No hesitation. “Star-gaze. Without the city lights, I can see constellations in the sky rather than on a screen.”

Cas inclined his head in agreement. “It’s not just the lights. Earth used to be proximal to many celestial bodies, but over the years, they’ve dwindled. What you see today is a poor man’s trove compared to the rich sky that Joan of Arc looked up to.”

“Stars ain’t shit when you’re burning at the stake, Cas.” Dean was awake, and sidled up to them in sock-feet. Cas casually slid his sketchbook away and closed it. Dean poured himself a generous cup of warm tea: Cas and Sam had collectively whittled down his protests to occasional grumblings. Dean still cherished his bacon, cup of joe, and straight whiskey, but he didn’t turn down lemon tea either.

“Joan of Arc accomplished far more than her death, Dean. That’s like saying that the only good thing Galileo ever did was get prosecuted by the church.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Well, you gotta admit it doesn’t help his case exactly.”

“You’re impossible”, says Cas, with the absolute knowledge that Dean is joking.

“You really wanna star-gaze, Sammy? Come on, I’m sure there’s other good stuff to do around here. We’ll teach Cas ping-pong, I saw a table in the rec room next to Neela’s house.”

“Nah, I’m good. Y’all go on, I’ll join you later.”

“Suit yourself.” Dean shrugged and nudged Cas. “Guess it’s just you and me, Cas.”

Cas smiled into his tea, wondering when he should tell Dean that he is an excellent ping-pong player.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Pongal to my Indian readers.
> 
> Happy New Year to everyone else. 
> 
> May 2018 bring you everything you deserve.


End file.
